


Phoenix Fire

by hungryhippolyta



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Stolen Century, blupjeans, heavy spoilers for everything up through cycle 99 of stolen century, here there be gerblins, it's gonna get a-juicy, lup lives, more to follow soon I promise, phoenix fire gauntlet, relics, taakitz, this is my first fic so be nice to the author please, tres horny boys - Freeform, uhhh what else do I tag this as geez
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-01 10:59:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hungryhippolyta/pseuds/hungryhippolyta
Summary: Taako dies. Lup forgets. And three adventurers discover an open listing for a job posted by a dwarf named Gundren Rockseeker...--AU with Lup as the third Tres Horny Boy.





	1. Phandalin

**Author's Note:**

> This work was lightly inspired by the acoustic version of Lianne La Havas's song "Forget". In her honor, Lup is now a huge fan of Fantasy Lianne La Havas -- hereby known as Neverwinter's hometown hero, that famous elven bard, Lianne La Flavas. 
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon -- sooner, if some kind reader (or readers) leave a juicy piece of kind feedback. Shoot me that good good validation, kids, cause it's baby's first fanfic and the author is a delicate little flower! 
> 
> Also, feel free to drop me notes on characterization, formatting, plot holes, whatever you like.

_All too familiar when it feels wrong._

That damn song has been stuck in her head all day.

When did it start? Lup wonders, staring up at the small circle of flame above her. The well is cool, and dark, and crowded. Her mind is blank. She can smell cooked meat.

 _Right_. It started when her new coworker (and _complete buffoon_ ) high-fived the gauntlet. He burned his big dumb hand, yelping in surprise. _Good going, dipshit,_ she cackled, smirk carefully in place. She clutched her umbrella very tightly.

It was a very ordinary umbrella. Lup had made sure of that.

 

“Well, we really suck at this so far,” Merle offers, brushing flakes of ash off his beard. Lup blinks at him, her eyes luminous, pupils wide in the suffocating darkness of the well.

“Really?” she responds. “I thought we were doing great so far! Not like, you know, not like we just murdered an entire town or anything! Ten out of ten!”

She feels the bile rising, and chokes it down. Time for that later. Right now, time to focus on getting two dipshits and an unconscious orc out of this _fucking_ hole.

“Can anybody levitate or anything?” she asks, not too hopefully.

“I’m more in the business of uplifting people’s souls,” Merle grumbles, “not their bodies, if you know what I mean.” His legs swing back and forth impatiently, drumming his heels on Killian’s crumpled form. He appears to have landed directly on the orc. Lup wonders if that might have contributed to her apparent concussion.

“I think we just live at the bottom of this well now,” sighs Magnus. He fumbles in the dark for Killian’s shoulder, giving her a quick shake.

“Aah!”

“That’s your _burnt_ hand,” Lup groans.

“Well, I remember that _now,_ ” Magnus responds, sullenly nursing his fingers. “Hey, do you think we could use this crossbow somehow?” Heedless again of his injury, he yanks the bow from its leather straps, dislodging Merle in the process.

“Hey, easy!” yelps Merle from the floor. “I’m an older fella, you know!”

“Trust me, we know,” Lup grins, suddenly feeling a little lighter. “Magnus, you think you can _Mission: Impossible_ us out of here, darling?”

Magnus hoists the enormous bow, the contraption almost as long as Lup is tall. “I think so,” he grunts, an enormous smile on his face. He strokes the wood lovingly. “Think you can wake up Killian?” he asks, sighting down the bow.

Lup raises an eyebrow at Killian’s crumpled, still body. She creeps a little closer. Then a little closer.

She slaps Killian on the face, then _very quickly_ withdraws. The orc doesn’t move.

“Okay, she’s dead, let’s go!” Magnus says, hopefully.

“She’s not _dead,_ ” hisses Lup. “She’s _unconscious._ We can’t just leave her!”

We can’t just _leave,_ she thinks, shaking Killian’s shoulder, as Magnus aims the crossbow to the cooling lip of the wellshaft. We can’t just leave. We can’t just--

 

_We can’t just leave--_

 

_“What about Barry?” shouts Lup, as Killian sprints for the well, as Magnus frantically tells the townspeople to LEAVE YOUR HOMES, GET AWAY NOW!_

_“I’m not leaving without Barry! I’m NOT LEAVING WITHOUT--”_

 

“Lup,” Merle says, strangely gentle, and there’s a small wrinkled hand on her hip, as high as the little dwarf can reach, “Lup, we’ve gotta go.” She breathes heavily, fists slowly unclenching. “And we’ll figure out a way to get Killian out with us! Okay?” he says, patting her awkwardly.

After a pause, Lup’s face lights up.

“Feather duster!”

“Huh?” Merle responds, looking on as Lup dives into a quick search of Killian’s pockets.

 _“Feather duster!”_ she says. “The magic feather duster! Maybe we can make her lighter!”

She pulls it out triumphantly, brandishing it at Merle. He shoots his hands in the air. “Hey, easy there, kiddo!”

There’s a distant _thunk_ as an enormous arrow embeds itself in the lip of the well, trailing a thick rope down to the adventurers. “Nice roll, Maggie,” Lup says, squinting up at the faint ring of light above. “Where’d you get the rope?”

“Fantasy Youth Scouts,” he grunts, pulling the rope taut. “As our troop leader used to say, ‘Always be in readiness!’” Without another word, he drops the crossbow, and scampers up the rope.

“Hey, what about us!” Merle yells. “Some friend _you_ are, buddy!”

Unfazed, Magnus climbs quickly, eclipsing the small ring of sunlight beaming down. The well grows even darker. Lup shivers.

As he throws an arm over the side of the well, there’s a faint _plink_ . Magnus hauls himself up, accompanied by the sound of a bull very gently nudging a china cabinet. _Plink plink plink plonk plink._

After a pause, Lup sees the shadow of his sideburned head appear. “Tie her to the rope!” he yells faintly. “Then hold on!”

Lup taps herself and the other two with the feather duster. The darkness fades to soft grey, as she fastens the loose rope to Killian’s armor. The knots form easily, unconsciously. Who taught me that? she thinks, frowning at the rope. Someone taught me how to do that.

She shakes her head. In over a hundred years of life on this crusty old planet, maybe you just start forgetting things.

 

She clutches her umbrella tightly as Magnus pulls them into the sunlight. The day is brilliant after the darkness of the well. And the ground reflects the sun perfectly.

Like a black mirror, she thinks, staring numbly at the town of Phandalin. Like a circle of black glass.

 

She clutches her umbrella, and the bile finally comes up.

 

\---

 

The three are approaching an ashy heap of Rockseeker, and Lup’s mouth is still sour. Magnus is bickering with Merle about how best to retrieve the gauntlet (“Maybe we just chop his hand off!” “That’s my _cousin,_ you bastard!” “Well he’s already, like, _super dead--_ ”) and her head is ringing and the black ground _plinks_ beneath her feet. And her eyes are locked on her gauntlet.

Lup frowns. _The_ gauntlet. That’s what she meant.

Was it?

 

_your gauntlet._

Her eyes widen.

 

_I’m YOUR gauntlet, Lup._

_I'_ _m yours._

_I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours. all yours all yours all yours all yours all yours. put me on._

 

Her eyes are clamped shut, hands instinctively covering her ears. The cry is deafening --

_put me on. put me on. put me on put me on put me on PUT ME ON PUT ME ON PUT ME ON PUT ME ON_

 

“Hey, guys?” she says, standing perfectly, perfectly still. “The glove really wants me to put it on.”

“What the fuck?” Magnus puts a hand on her shoulder. “Is it talking to you?”

“It’s singing me some sweet sweet lullabies,” she says, deadpan. “And it, uh, it seems pretty fucking insistent that I wear it, like, kind of ASAP?”

“Don’t do _that!_ ” Merle shouts, scampering around and barring her way, stubby arms stretched wide. “It’ll kill you!”

“Oh, thanks for the input!,” she snaps. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that this crazy magical object that destroyed the entire town we’re standing in, might be, I don’t know, a little dangerous!”

“It didn’t just destroy the town,” Magnus replies, watching her carefully. “It also destroyed the two people that were using it.”

“Yeah, and that’s why we can’t just _leave it here_ for anyone to take,” Lup says, without thinking. She pauses. “I know this sounds, maybe, a little crazy. But I have to try to beat it. I have to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

 _Not again._ People are screaming, and there is the crash of a building, beautiful, collapsing, and the smell of old wood, and metal, and meat. And here, there is glass. And here, there is the remnant of flame.

_Not again._

 

Magnus is yelling something, Lup thinks, but she’s running, she’s running, and the glove is somehow already in her hands. She shakes it, gently, and ash spirals to the ground.

 _Hello,_ she thinks. The glove is warm. In the blackened leather, she can see the faintest etching of a bird, wings spread wide in a gust of flame.

 _hello, again._ The voice in her mind. _hello again. remember what we can do together. do you remember? do you remember me?_

 _Hush,_ she sighs. _J_ _ust shut up, please? You’re going in the bag now._

 _what about your GREATNESS,_ it sings, a demented tune in her brain, _what happened, Lup, what happened, what happened to your FIRE, your SPARK your LIGHT your PASSION, with me you can be a PHOENIX AGAIN_

“No can do, baby,” Lup announces, stuffing the glove in her rucksack. “I’m done with that scene.”

 

“What?” Magnus gasps, baffled, as he jogs up to Lup. “What was _that_?”

“Nothing,” Lup responds smoothly, tightening the straps. “Just talking to myself.”

“Not _that,_ I mean--Lup, we have to work as a team, okay? This stuff is too dangerous to deal with alone!” There’s so much worry in his eyes. It hurts a little to look at, so she doesn’t.

“I’ve been taking care of my own shit for a long time, okay, Mags?” Lup says, quietly. “I don’t need you to hold my hand or whatever.” She grins at Magnus, with all of her many, slightly alarming teeth. “Trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

Merle arrives, panting for breath. “I’m here! What happened? Where’s the--oh.”

Lup swings the bag onto her back. “Now where’s our sleepy orc friend? I don’t know about you guys, but I could use a few answers that aren’t all _weird crackly static_ right about now.”

 

She sets off for the well, and if there’s still a little voice in her head, singing songs of greatness, well. Lup's never made a habit of listening to the voices in her head, and she's not about to start now.


	2. 2. The Bureau of Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes meet a certain Madame Director.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments and kudos, as they fuel my lust for further pain (every time I write Lucretia I just suffer, she's SO GOOD and I want a redemption arc for her SO BAD)

This, right here? This is the worst fucking headache of her life.

Lup’s ears are still ringing from aftereffects of the Voidfish’s song, and the faint taste of crab rangoon lingers on her tongue. (“With a soupçon of poop!” Merle had added, unhelpfully.)

And finally, she can see.

Lup sees the wars that obliterated towns, and the carnage, and the fire, and the loss of it -- the unthinkable loss of every memory, suddenly returned to her. The static has cleared.

Before them, on the dais, sits the Director.

She wears blue and white, ornate robes bright against her dark skin and plain white staff. Her hair is white, cropped short. She is fifty, perhaps older.

She’s beautiful, Lup thinks. She has seen terrible things.

“Welcome, the three of you, to the Bureau of Balance,” the Director says, calm voice ringing through the throne room. “It’s a pleasure to have you. I’ve heard a lot of great things about your performance from Killian.” She glances at a thin file, hastily assembled, on the table by her side. “Magnus, Merle, and….Lup, is it?”

“That’s us!” Merle exclaims. “Just three sonsabitches, doing the best we can in this, rough, _rough_ world out there--”

“Just trying to scrape together enough cash to survive the winter,” Lup finishes, glancing at Merle and flashing a quick grin. “I’m sure Killian might have mentioned the subject of our payment--”

“For services rendered!” Magnus chimes in. “Since, you know, we _did_ just rescue that gauntlet for you.”

The Director’s eyebrows raise. “Ah, yes. Rest assured, you -- uh, you three rapscallions -- will be paid handsomely, upon return of the gauntlet in question.”

“And who’s to say we can’t get a better offer somewhere else?” Lup challenges, grin widening. Magnus desperately makes a cut-off motion at his throat, but she ignores him. “What’s in it for us, exactly?”

“Call it...an offer of employment,” the Director says flatly. “ _Upon return_ of the Relic, we can discuss terms of future payment. But destroying that item is my absolute priority at the moment.”

 _“Destroying_ it!” Merle wails. “But it’s _our_ gauntlet!”

“I’m afraid so.” She pauses. “The destruction of Phandalin alone should be enough for you to understand. The gauntlet is too powerful to remain in existence. It has driven this world to bloodshed so many times, and today is the day we stop it, forever.”

“Payment up front,” Lup responds, after a pause. Magnus closes his eyes and winces. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer some cold, hard reassurance that we’ll be compensated for all the weird shit we’ve gone through today.”

The Director massages her brow, exasperated. “You three are going to be more trouble than you’re worth,” she mutters. Lup could swear she can hear a hint of a smile in her voice, but maybe that’s being a little too optimistic.

Abruptly, the Director rises from her chair, and claps her hands twice. “Davenport!”

A small door opens next to the dais, and out walks an equally small, gnomish man, dressed head to toe in an ornate red uniform.

“Go ahead and give them their payment,” she says gently.

Davenport struts towards the adventurers, rummaging through pockets to triumphantly produce a fat purse of coins.

Lup delicately plucks the purse from his hands and examines it. “Thanks, little man,” she says, half smiling. She tosses the purse to Magnus.

“Davenport!” he responds cheerily.

“That’s absolutely right, buddy. Davenport.”

The Director looks on, and says nothing. Her hand is clenched very tightly on the staff.

 

\--

 

“So how are you planning on destroying this thing, anyway?” Merle says, jogging to keep up with the Director’s swift pace. “It seems pretty powerful, you know, from what we’ve seen of it!”

“Well, I’m glad you asked, Merle,” she replies patiently, eyes fixed on the hallway ahead. “It’s taken us actually quite some time to develop anything capable of destroying this particular item. So today we’re going to see, well -- exactly what this baby can do, I suppose.”

“Well, listen,” Lup pants, feeling the exhaustion of the last week’s trials setting in as she matches the Director’s stride. “Listen. I’m -- I’m but a simple, idiot wizard,” she says, catching the older woman’s gaze, “an amateur, you could say, but could you maybe tell me a little more about--”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” the Director interrupts. Lup blinks, surprised. “You did a phenomenal job with capturing the gauntlet. All of you,” she says, glancing back. “Somehow, through pure, very dumb luck, you all managed to achieve something the Bureau has tried for over a decade to accomplish, without success.”

“It was all my doing,” Magnus deadpans. “You’re welcome.”

“Hey!” Merle pants, elbowing him.

“Listen, could you tell us a little about your organization, before we just... hand it over?” Lup persists, as the Director waves aside the few guards in front of a large black door.

She sighs, and the door noiselessly slides open. “All right,” she says, “I suppose you deserve to know.”

“The Bureau of Balance has a singular purpose, and that is to collect and destroy certain, uh-- let’s call them weapons of mass destruction.” She walks through the doorway, gesturing them in. “You could call us a sort of disarmament organization, tasked with making the world safer by destroying the things that threaten it. Namely, powerful artifacts” -- she motions to Lup’s pack -- “like that gauntlet you have in your possession right now.”

“Gotcha,” says Magnus. “Good enough for me.”

They’ve entered a small anteroom. As the door slides shut behind them, a burly guard appears from behind an enormous black velvet curtain, pushing a cart loaded with a heavy iron sphere.

“Go ahead and pop that bad boy in there,” the guard says, tapping the small glass circle on the top. “If you wouldn’t mind,” she hurriedly continues, catching the Director’s stern glance.

At her touch, the glass window pops open. Magnus and Merle turn to look at Lup.

“Okie dokie,” she says drily, swinging her pack off her shoulder and pulling out the glove. “Here goes--”

_yoursyoursyoursyoursputmeonputmeonputmeonputmeon--_

“nothing,” she grimaces, lobbing the gauntlet into the sphere. It bounces off the upturned glass and falls into the hole, clanking against the iron bottom.

Lup punches the air. “Yeah! Tell me how my ass tastes, Kobe!”

“If you’re done fucking around,” the Director says sternly, “we can get on with the _very serious_ matter at hand.” Sweeping forward, she approaches the iron sphere.

Behind her back, Magnus quietly gives Lup a high five.

The curtain is drawn back, and the sphere is wheeled into the depths of the chamber, behind a wall of thick glass. The Director approaches the viewing window, joined quickly by her motley audience.

Tapping her staff on the glass, the sphere begins to float in the air; bright pillars of light begin to shoot out of the walls of this chamber, stabbing through the iron sphere, and suddenly it is very, very bright. Lup squints and lifts a hand, shielding her sensitive eyes. Magnus, elated and illuminated, looks like he’s at his first rock concert. Merle’s eyes are firmly shut.

After a minute or so, without fanfare, the pillars of light disappear. The sphere very slowly floats down to the floor of the chamber. The guard walks in, heaves it back onto the cart, and wheels it back in.

The Director pops open the sphere, and finds -- nothing.

“Time for your first bonus!” she says, seeming incredibly relieved. “Davenport?”

The gnome approaches, laboring under a tray loaded with gold.

“You mean there’s _more?_ ” Merle says, raspily, eyes glowing.

“Oh, absolutely. We pay handsomely for your services, here at the Bureau.” The three scrabble for their packs, shoveling the gold inside before it disappears.

“Well, thanks, Miss Director--” Merle begins.

“No.”

“Lady Director?” Magnus offers.

“Absolutely not, no.”

“Well, what’s your real name, anyway?” Lup says, eyebrows raised, glancing up briefly from the pile of unexpected wealth.

“Oh, that’s classified,” the Director says, a look of incredible sadness passing briefly over her face. “You can just call me...the Director. Or Madame Director. Whatever,” she says, waving a hand dismissively.

“So what happens next?” Magnus asks, straightening. “Do we join your weird cult now?”

“Oh, absolutely,” the Director replies, deadpan. “Hope you like goat hooves, because you’re about to be shaking a whole lot of them.”

“I always thought I’d look good in some creepy robes,” Lup offers cheerily.

“That won’t be necessary,” she responds quickly. “But I think it’s time you were briefed on exactly what’s going on here at the Bureau.”

“Will there be mimosas?” Merle rasps, lurching under the enormous weight of his gold-laden pack. “I could kill for a mimosa right about now.”

“Oooh, do you have Oolong here?” Magnus continues, excitedly.

“Okay, doofuses, let’s go find where they keep the snacks,” Lup says, marching out the door, heedless of the guard's protests and the Director's exasperated glare.

Sighing, she watches the three interrogate the outside guards. She glances at Davenport, who stares back good-humoredly. “Davenport?” he asks, patting her knee.

“Yes, I’m fine, Davenport, thank you.” She stares blankly at the rapidly gesturing Magnus, who seems to be miming out a cup of Oolong tea to the uncomprehending guard.

“They haven’t changed at all,” she murmurs. “Thank the gods.” She closes her eyes, turning away from the gnome at her side. “Show them to the mess hall. They’re to report to the main chamber in one hour for further briefing.”

“Davenport,” he says, reassuringly, before trotting after the three miscreants.

She nods to the guard, and walks stiffly out of the room, clutching the staff as if it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
